I dont consider myself a writer, at least not a very good one, so I was surprised when I got a good grade on the first essay that I had to write for my english composition class. I thought Id share it here for you since its kinda funny. Some poetic licence was taken when writing it since the wine is not actually ready to bottle and drink yet. Hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think. Wine-ing A bottle of white, a bottle of red, perhaps a bottle of rosé instead? How fitting that Billy Joel’s Scenes from an Italian Restaurant of all songs should be playing in the background as I kick back and sip on what can only be described as sweet fire. This patio chair is far from comfortable, it never has been, and I don’t know why we keep it other than nostalgia. The chill whipping through the air and piercing my light sweater tells me that winter is once again pushing fall into history, a thought that I’m not happy about. It’s difficult to sip on jalapeño wine without recalling the amusing chain of events that were involved in its making. Ive been an amateur vintner for about 4 years now and I had wanted to make this wine for over a year but I couldn’t start it until I had the space and equipment available. I didn’t start making wine because I wanted to learn patience; I’ve never had a desire to be more patient. I’m not exactly Ted Kennedy, shaking in rabid anticipation of his next drink, but I really don’t like to wait. I began making wine simply because I enjoy making things and I thought it would be cool to give it away for Christmas and birthday presents. I never envisioned the operation evolving to produce close to 300 bottles a year, most of which I give away. I’ve never sold a bottle and I probably never will. I saw the recipe on a website about wine making and the author, Jack Keller, said that when he made his first batch of jalapeño wine he intended to use it for cooking but it tasted incredible and promptly started another batch. Nothing can compare to the drama that unfolded that spring afternoon. By all accounts, it started out as a normal Saturday. My girlfriend, Michelle, our 2 kids and I loaded up in the truck and headed to Jay’s Farm Stand to buy 64 jalapeños and 6 pounds of white raisins (maybe not your normal Saturday but for me it didn’t seem strange at all). We arrived at my parent’s house, where most of our wine making takes place, late in the morning which didn’t bode well because we had a lot to get done and I could already tell we were going to be pressed for time since we didn’t want to be there all day. Gathering empty carboys to rerack wine that was already aging and sterilizing racking canes, hydrometers and other supplies so we wouldn’t contaminate the wine during the process was tedious but necessary. I immediately went into game mode, not like a quarterback who uses finesse and tactics to achieve his goal, more like a defensive lineman frantically trying to barge through all obstacles to get to my prize. Reracking wine isn’t difficult but it takes time; time that I didn’t want to spend. I wanted to be starting something new. Something different. Something that I had wanted to do for what seemed like ages. Running around like a kid with a new toy who had to do his chores before he could have fun, I quickly had two carboys siphoning and was preparing the other three for their dull task of draining from a full jug to an empty one. Meanwhile, Michelle took the jalapeños out of the bag and, with gloves on, began washing them and cutting them in quarters so half of them could be deseeded before going into the blender. After she finished with that task, she began the laborious task of dissecting the 6 pounds of raisins so they would impart their precious flavor into the must better. What started as a seemingly innocuous task proved to be much more daunting and with every slice the knife and her fingers grew more and more sticky. Lucky for me, she’s not accustomed to wielding a knife and by the end of the arduous task her hands were cramping and the words she was directing my way were far sharper than the knife that was shaking in her hand. I ignored all of it. I was finally done with my chores and was now able to conquer the heat. I was going to tame the untamable, climb the unclimbable, make a wine that shouldn’t be made and it was going to be great! In my haste I made one small mistake but as I look back on it, it wasn’t really that small at all… I thought I was careful as I took handfuls of jalapeños off the cutting board and gently placed them in the blender with some water. I made sure that the lid was on tight before I started the blender and cautiously poured the chopped peppers into the bucket each time so I wouldn’t splatter and make a mess. Somewhere along the way it did splatter though, not much but enough so there was a tingle of heat on my cheek. Although the pain started out small, it continued to get worse until after 20 minutes or so it grew into an annoyance that needed to be dealt with. Again being safe, I washed my hands very well before attempting to wash the jalapeño juice from my cheek… Fire instantly spread across half of my face and into my eye when the soap and water touched my cheek and I began shedding tears like a small child who just had his favorite toy ripped from his hands. I had made a horrible mistake and was embarrassed but I was in too much pain to pretend I didn’t feel like an Occupy Wall Street protester who had just been pepper sprayed. Quickly I did the only thing I could think of, I grabbed the milk from the refrigerator and began pouring it on my face and into my eye. It didn’t help. Half and half must work, I thought, so with milk still running down my face I ran back to the refrigerator and grabbed it. That didn’t work either! By this time Michelle and my Mom were feigning concern as they stifled laughter at my predicament, giggling back and forth with an occasional, “are you okay?” or “wow, that looks painful, can we help?” I should take a moment to thank Google because without their infinite knowledge in the palm of my girlfriend’s hand I might have never known that lemon juice works wonders to extinguish the inferno from hot peppers when applied to the affected area. This is where I made my second mistake and I refuse to take the sole blame for it because if I had not been sheer moments from calling poison control to somehow explain my situation I would have had enough wits about me to remember that when you mix milk and lemon juice together, they curdle. As the pain began to subside I could finally manage to chuckle at the mess of curdled milk and lemon juice that was all over my face and in my bloodshot eye. I’m fine now; the pain was completely gone after only a couple of days. Sitting here ten months after that day and sipping on the fruits of our labor, I can’t help but think that nobody will enjoy this wine the way I do: sipping on sweet fire and fighting to keep my face from cringing in a PTSD induced spasm with all of the memories raging in my head.
Posted on: Thu, 24 Jul 2014 20:03:41 +0000